Best Yawning(A) Poems
AND ON THAT DAY…
(APROPOS MLK: PART 1)
And on that day we will rise
And raise the hued shades of ignorance
And let the light of truth shine on our souls
And purify our hearts with warm rays of hope.
And on that day we will rise
And see rumors of wars sucked into black holes of peace.
And the phoenix birds shall give birth to cooing doves.
And on that day we shall confront our humanity
And boldly say to it, you must become all we can be;
And seek forgiveness for the acts that trampled the will of God;
And hope for redemption for the shredded dreams deferred.
And on that day America shall awaken from her slumber
And stretch forth her weary arms yawning a Nicodemus yawn.
And that day shall be the dawning of new beginnings;
And the chameleon shall change its colors no more.
And each hued hope shall be woven into the fabric of common destiny.
And the wheels of time shall roll us over into the New Jerusalem…
And on that day America will sing a new song;
And it shall be: My country’s tears to thee…
And on that day God will say: Well Done!
Ability to face his fears, gone!
Bewitched by a demon for so long.
Could not conceive a positive thought.
Doom and dread was all he sought.
Echoing hallucinating voices in his mind.
Friendships meaningful, he could not find.
‘Go ahead, end it now!’….
He’d hear them say.
Interdict he should live to see another day.
Just then, he concluded what to do.
‘Kill myself undoubtedly, then I’ll stop feeling blue’.
Longing though to change his mind.
Moods flared up, of every kind.
Never had he felt this low.
Only solution is to merely let it go.
Pick a course; blade, gun or poison?
Quickest approach, without a reason!
Reflecting nothing, he simply acted.
Sanguinary wound, self-inflicted!
Thoughts of despair as he laid there bleeding.
Utter commotion, so very misleading.
Veils of black line the chapel floor.
Weeping eyes, dry no more.
Xylophonic gizmos the performers played.
Yawning a soft sweet serenade.
Zany acts could not be predicted, resulting in death, ‘self-inflicted!’
As I finish my day
with a hot cup of chai,
eyes slightly heavy
and yawning a sigh,
I ponder my thoughts
hoping for a last write
before I give in
and I call it a night.
A brief sense of urgency
catches my breath.
What if tomorrow
is fated my death?
I still haven't written
that one masterpiece,
fulfilling my life
so to die with a peace.
I'm still wide awake
though I can't believe how.
This yearning consumes
every part of me now.
Even when working
I'm watching the time,
searching my mind
for a meaningful rhyme.
I have to give up now,
It's getting too late.
My coveted masterpiece
just has to wait.
I say to myself,
"There's always tomorrow"
but still I can't help
feeling whispers of sorrow.
Maybe someday,
if I sort them all out,
the words of my masterpiece
might come about,
one of these nights
as my day says goodbye,
while I sit and enjoy
one more hot cup of chai.
-Jeannie Minor
Yawning and sneezing a common,
At all men and women,
Yawning a devil,coming from Satan,
Take care,
Sneezing divined,
Praise God then and there!
Listen, the dead calm silence of night is blinking awake.
You can hear the sky yawning, a new day is dawning.
Listen, a bird far away tweets a piecing but soft call.
An echo or a response is given, further away still, very soft and tentative in reply.
Listen, you can hear the sound of the silence which seeps into your being
like the coolness and dampness of dawn.
Listen, you can hear the rays of light kissing the scene into life with gentle taps and nustles, spreading gradually inland.
Listen as the gossamer breeze springs up, gently rattling the leaves awake.
Listen, you can hear a rustle of animals tip-toeing in slippers, bustling about.
Listen, you can hear dew drops falling from leaves glistening in red and yellow light.
Listen as dawn the conductor, with flips of the baton, calls each instrument gathered, to spring gently and softly into life.
Heralding a new performance by the gathered ensemble.
Yes, it's time for applause.
Three Tribute poems-- composed by me,
For Longfellow blog….
(1.)
Glory Of Faith's Triumphant Golden Crowns
The rays of morn took their first golden breath
Dispersing powers of night's darkling mists
First gleams romancing sweet the earthen shores
Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists
Demanding night accept its coming death!
Triumphant crowns!
Dawn's first yawning, a parade of new dreams
Waking Fate and its ever growing lists
With dancing echoes of showers to fall
Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists
Birthing flowers born from resplendent streams!
Triumphant crowns!
Sweet the softest callings of better days
With man rising to earn his daily bread
And Nature singing true to cheer life's all
Earth no longer mourning yesterday's dead
Future hope setting sail as sunbeams play!
Triumphant crowns!
Humanity follows its usual course
While bright blue-set skies rejoice overhead
Teeming hordes traversing their daily treks
Across well-worn pathways from life well fed
Amidst the carnage of loss and remorse!
Triumphant crowns!
Father Time speaks demanding to be heard
Above the din of crowds surging about
Commanding its fleeing hours to obey
Sternly obeyed were its arrogant shouts
And the infinite powers of each word!
Triumphant crowns!
Sun was setting, its daily chores all done
Mortals noted the rapid fleeing light
All had felt the ever changing new course
Some with increasing joy, others with fright
Dark shadows arose screaming lets have fun!
Triumphant crowns!
The moon sped brightly forth taking top stage
Stars came twinkling across heavenly skies
The wise old owl took its same midnight flight
Night spread its woven cloak of evil lies
While sleeping crowds await first new rage!
Triumphant crowns!
The rays of morn took their first golden breath
Dispersing powers of night's darkling mists
First gleams romancing sweet the earthen shores
Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists
Demanding night accept its coming death!
Triumphant crowns!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2021
Romanticism, ( That Man Could Wake To See Coming Of Eternity )
Blog poem.